


But There Is Always a November Space

by lindenwaverly



Series: The Long Thanksgiving [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: F/M, part of a super long series, preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:47:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindenwaverly/pseuds/lindenwaverly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason's first Thanksgiving back home.</p><p>preslash for Jason/Tim. This is part of a much longer series that will cycle through the whole Batfam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But There Is Always a November Space

_“But there is always a November space after the leaves have fallen when she felt it was almost indecent to intrude on the woods…for their glory terrestrial had departed and their glory celestial of spirit and purity and whiteness had not yet come upon them.”_

_― L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Windy Poplars_

 

“I don’t understand the big deal,” said Steph. “It’s only Thanksgiving. It’s like Christmas’s disappointing younger sibling.”

They were in the library, huddled around a roaring fire and squinting to read in the evening light because none of them wanted to leave the heat to cross the room and turn the lights on. Tim had his hair pushed back, eyes crinkled up from lack of sleep, pouring over a first edition Poe. Steph knew that he’d shoved the Stephan King novel he’d been reading under a cushion as soon as Damian had entered the room. The monster child was doing his homework, holding a pencil with a look more appropriate for someone holding a knife. Steph had a half-written essay abandoned by her feet, pen still dangling from her fingers as she watched the fire.

“Tell me about it,” grumbled Damian. “Have you seen the homework they gave me? “Imagine you’re a turkey an it’s coming up to Thanksgiving. Write down how you’re feeling.””

“I’m assuming it would just be an elongated version of “Arrrrgh, I’m going to die.”

“It wouldn’t be anything. Do you know why, Stephanie? Because I’m a turkey. Turkey’s don’t care.”

“Aren’t you a vegetarian?”

“Just because something doesn’t have a sense of its own mortality doesn’t meant we can’t kill it.”

Steph raised an eyebrow.

“And look at this,” said Damian, fishing another piece of paper from his schoolbag. “ “Draw a picture of your five favourite things about autumn.””

“I can see why that one would be difficult,” said Tim dryly. “It would require you to have an emotion other than overwhelming hatred.”

Damian made his noise – ugh, she couldn’t stand that noise. “You know, for once I’ll be glad of Todd’s presence. Maybe he’ll kill you with the carving knife.”

“Wait, what?” said Steph. “Jason’s coming? Hasn’t he tried to kill you and Dick? Like, repeatedly?”

“He’s given up on killing us now,” said Tim. “Now he just repeatedly tries to undermine us.”

“I can’t imagine that would be hard.”

“Shut up and tell your teacher how much you love playing in the autumn leaves, Damian.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

If Cass was winter to Steph, and Dick was spring and Damian was summer, then Tim was autumn to her. He had that feel – tired and faded, but not dead, still sort of hopeful and cosy and familiar – and his voice had that dry quality, like autumn leaves. His eyes were touched with grey, like summer skies just beginning to get cold. And then there were his hands, their graceful, circling movements like migrating birds, twisting and rotating as he spoke.

She didn’t usually have thoughts like this about other people – this little family loomed so large in her mind now that she could effortlessly match them with anything, songs, colours, animals whatever, with far more ease than she would for anyone else – so she was surprised when, after watching Jason for an hour, she concluded that he was also an autumn person.

She’d been standing by the window, waiting for him to arrive. She'd heard the stories, and see his picture in the file, but still. She'd never actually met him, which was strange because - he was Tim's _brother._ Technically. She had a very clear mental image of him, though. Devilish eyebrows, hair just a little too messy for it to be deliberate, a faint touch of stubble and a smile that looked like it was barely supressing a snarl.

When she’d first seen his picture, she’d thought that he looked like the sort of person who might be a werewolf.

So when he pulled up and shook off his helmet, she was surprised to note that he looked tired. He didn’t come in right away – just stood there, staring up at the house. After a long while he took out a cigarette, then stood there as if he’d forgotten it was in his hand. Then with a quick, angry movements he lit it and went back to staring.

“Steph? Steph, there you are.”  Tim had obviously just been fussed over by Alfred, because his hair was slicked back in a way that made him look two years younger than he actually was.

“Jason’s here.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I know. I wish…. I wish he’d just quit the staring thing.”

“You’re really scared of him, aren’t you?”

He shrugged and shook his head. “Not scared, just… It doesn’t matter. Come downstairs.”

By the time she’d finished fussing over her hair  - “For god’s sake, Steph, just let it hang loose, you’re almost as bad as Dick” – and had come downstairs he was already there, lurking in the hallway. For a big man, he was surprisingly good at taking up as little space as possible. Not that you could ignore him. There was something around him, a restlessness in his movements that set you on edge just to look at, a smouldering under the surface. And this was Jason Todd, possibly the only person who’s shadow loomed larger in this house than Bruce’s. You didn't become a batkid without meeting Jason's ghost.

“Hey,” he said, looking up and noticing her in the shadow of the stairwell. Behind her, she felt Tim stiffen but keep moving down.

“Hey. You must be Jason.”

“And you must be the new Batgirl. I think I saw you earlier.”

She tried not to blush. Jesus Christ, welcome to the Batfamily, masters of stealth except for young Stephanie Brown over here, no, she can’t even work out to hide behind a curtain.

Tim gave a friendly nod and half raised his hand. Jason’s eyes slid across him but he didn’t respond.

“Tim, Alfred needs you to –“ Dick stopped and stared at Jason. He wiped his hands across his suit jacket as if he was barely aware of it, leaving darker trails from the wet.

“Hey –“ His voice was high and hoarse, and he swallowed and tried again. “Hey, little wing.”

Jason moved back against the wall. “Hey, goldie.”

Steph took Tim’s arm and steered him from the room.  When she looked back she saw Dick with his arms around Jason, his face screwed up so tight it looked like he was in pain.

 

* * *

 

Dinner was a strange, awkward affair. Bruce wasn’t brooding – in fact, he was actually smiling, but doing it so wrong that it took a second for Steph to realise he was putting on his Bruce Wayne, Billionaire Playboy face. She didn’t think she’d ever seen a grown man as close to tears as Dick was. Jason handled his cutlery like it was doll-sized. Tim was playing with his hair more than he was touching his food.

Across the table, Damian rolled his eyes and Cass winked.

So they were halfway through the meal when the Jason=Autumn revelation happened. She'd been staring at him - hopefully more subtly than the first time - when it hit her. It was the only season that could suit him – biting and crisp but not cold, voice low and mellifluous and with a demeanour that reminded her of the end of a bonfire. He looked burnt out, broken up. And his hands reminded her of autumn trees, with scarred knuckles and chapped skin and a subtle kind of strength in the fingers.

Finally, after an eternity of awkward pauses and half-dodged questions, Alfred stood. “I’ll clear the plates away if the rest of you would like to retire to the sitting room. If I could have a glamorous assistant  - ?”

Jason stood almost instantly, and Tim leapt up too and started clearing plates. She didn’t think she’d ever seen someone focus quite so hard on not looking at anyone. Jason raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond, just picked up a few bowls and followed Alfred to the kitchen.

She pulled Dick aside before they got to the library.

“Um, what – why – um – wasn’t he firmly on the “People who should be in Arkham” list?”

Dick shrugged. “He got better. I think. And Bruce really wants him on side because he’s got a good hold over the poorer parts of the city and he’s a folk hero and – he was a Robin, ok? He’s still Bruce’s son, at the end of the day.”

She has to bite back the “I was a Robin and I don’t recall ever being treated anything like family in fact I don’t even remember certain people giving too much of a fuck when I died”. There was one living, breathing family trauma already in the house, helping Alfred wash up in the kitchen. Today wasn’t the day to sour the mood any further.

And anyway, whenever she got too bitter she could always remember the look on Bruce’s face when she slapped him.

Dick nodded – however different he was to Bruce, he’d picked up the “A conversation is over when I do the nod” mentality – and moved towards the game cupboard. “We should play a board game. Who doesn’t like board games?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Do you want a comprehensive list? Because I bet if I recited it, it would still be more interesting than playing one of those things.”

“Only if it’s Cluedo,” said Bruce as Tim and Alfred entered the room.

“Second that,” said Tim, and everyone groaned.

“No,” said Dick. “No way. You two guess after two goes, and you always guess differently and then spend twenty minutes going over why you’re right in detail while everyone else sits there confused, and then neither of you ever, ever get it right.”

“I swear,” said Tim, “there is no possible way that it could have been Mrs White. Damian had to have been hiding his cards or something.”

“I won,” said Cass happily. “I’ll play.”

“Watching Drake’s face after being wrong is always amusing,” said Damian. “I’ll play.”

Dick turned helplessly towards the door. “Jason?”

He shrugged. “I’m game.”

For a while, at least, the game went fine. Damian got stuck with Mrs White after the mad grab for pieces and nearly had a mini-fit, but Bruce shot him a look and he managed to keep it under control. Tim was Miss Scarlet, which came with teasing from Dick and blushes from him. Steph and Cass combined to form a Miss Peacock superteam. Jason had Reverend Green, Dick and Bruce teamed up for Professor Plum and Alfred, as always, got stuck with Colonel Mustard.

The moment – the one they were all holding their breath for – came halfway through the game.

“Come on, Tim,” sighed Dick. “You are taking an age. Literally, a whole age. What’s another word for age?”

“Aeon,” said Tim, still studying the board. “And I can’t think with you doing that.”

“Just make a snap guess – “

“That’s not how you – “

“Snap guess, Tim! Quick! Think fast!”

“Fine! Jason in the library with the crowbar.”

The silence that followed was breathless. Tim’s face didn’t so much fall as collapse, every muscle in it slackening as he realised what he’d said.

“I meant… I meant… the lead piping, I meant the lead piping.”

Jason didn’t respond, just calmly flicked through his cards, selected one that was appropriate and showed it to Tim.

“Too quick, replacement. I know for a fact you figured out it couldn’t be the library three turns ago.”

There was no menace in his voice, just resignation. Dick breathed a sigh of relief and hurriedly took his go, and the awkwardness and shock slowly seeped out of the room as they all stopped watching each other and watched the game.

In the end Damian won, because between the awkwardness and the shock and the newness of Jason no one had been sharp enough to catch him cheating. There was a big show of packing the game away and trying to organise the cards and find all the pieces, and then it was put back in the cupboard and then there was nothing.

Steph had been at enough Wayne family events – and heard enough horror stories from Cass and Tim – to know that long, awkward silences were pretty much the norm.  But now, exposing this to Jason, they all seemed curiously naked.

“Mind if I put some music on?” said Jason.

 

“Sure,” said Dick, when no one else seemed sure who should answer.  Jason wondered over to the record player and flicked through the collection, making the occasional disapproving noise. When he finally chose a song, it took a few bars for Steph to recognise what it was, but Tim got it instantly. He half-smiled at him, with his hair all round his face the way he pulled it when he got shy and wanted to hide behind it. Jason didn’t respond, just held his gaze for a long second then shut his eyes.

“Dylan,” murmured Dick. “Good choice.”

 

* * *

 

Bruce had some urgent business to attend to, Tim was too shy and Damian didn’t seem to give enough of a shit, so it was just Dick, Alfred, Steph and Cass seeing Jason off. She felt uncomfortable. This moment would have been better left to Dick and Alfred, but she was here now and it would be more awkward to leave. It would acknowledge that there was something here to be savoured and felt, rending the veil of normalcy they’d managed to pull over the meal.

Dick held Jason for a long time.

“Come back for Christmas, little wing.”

“I’m twice your size, Goldie. You’re going to have to get a new nickname.”

Alfred gave him a hug too, and this time he seemed to relax into it.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Jason.”

“Yeah well, celebrating colonialism and genocide isn’t exactly my idea of happy. But Happy Thanksgiving to you too, Alfred.”

He nodded to her and Cass, got on his motorbike and was gone in a roar she barely had time to brace herself for.

She found Tim watching from the window she’d been at when Jason arrived, jacket and tie discarded on the balcony.

“Hey, boy stalker. He’s gone now. You can breathe again.”

He pressed his forehead against the window, his breathe fogging up the glass.

“I really screwed up, didn’t I?”

“Well he didn’t shoot you and he didn’t point blank refuse to come back for Christmas, so I’m guessing not.” She kissed him on the cheek and drew a heart in the marks on the glass with the tip of her finger.

He turned towards her, pressed his lips against her forehead and ran his hands over her hips.

“You look beautiful in that dress, Miss Brown.”

 _I’d probably look better out of it_  she thought, but she left it. Tim’s kisses were awkward and his caresses even more so, a strange mixture of desperate and tentative that she just couldn’t get used to. Whatever he had to get over, he was working over it, and if occasionally that meant she went home from their dates still flushed and hot then it was worth it to be able to brush back Tim’s hair and kiss his cheek and know he was hers.

“And you look dashing in that suit, Mr Drake. Even if you have managed to get gravy on the edge of your shirt.”

“Oh hell. Alfred – “

“Will never actually tell you off for anything. Now why don’t we go to your room before we give him a fit?”


End file.
